The Patriarch
by Erithemaeus
Summary: His name was written in history books, immortalized as the one who had started Remnant's most prolific business venture. Most knew him to be assassinated, the fruits of his labor enough to draw unwanted attention from those that sought to nip a problem in the bud. But he was just biding his time. When you're the Patriarch, patience comes naturally. [Bree-verse]


The Schnee Dust Company is known throughout Remnant to be its main supplier of Dust. From the mountainous peaks of Atlas all the way to the desert wastes of Vacuo, one could feel the incredible reach and power of the Schnee family. It was said that their success was due to their aggressive negotiation policies, a relentless pursuit of efficiency, and the willingness to serve all facets of society itself.

In reality however, it all came down to a little bit of luck.

Schnee fortune first struck with its founder, Bree Schnee. It was a time after the Faunus Wars, and most – if not all – combatants were physically, mentally, and emotionally drained by the affair. The Faunus Wars had struck a deep blow in regards to their position in Remnant's food chain, and companies left and right were lobbying for faunus rights in order to prevent the next generation of continuing what was obviously a pointless war.

War was hell, and Bree Schnee knew it well. His hands had killed more than a fair share of his 'opponents', and he had the habit of continuously switching activities to make sure that he didn't have time for deep-seated contemplation. It was a way to cope with the horrors of war, nonetheless – even if it could be described as cowardly.

And so, then came the day where he was prospecting a barren piece of land with his long-time friend Osmand Dupont. It was there that he had struck metaphorical gold – a colossal vein of Dust, all there for the taking. It streaked through the rock in a myriad of different colors from white to black, and he had immediately exploited the discovery.

The land belonged to him, and thus any prospective miner that wanted to gain a piece of the newly-discovered treasure needed to sign a contract that gave away most of their earnings in return for fair labor conditions, enough gains to open their own savings account, and the ability to stay in Bree Schnee's newly-built house in order to chat with the man himself. These conditions prompted an influx of wannabe rich men onto the newly-christened Schnee estate, and it all went uphill from there.

Less than a month later, the Schnee Dust Company was born.

People of all classes and ethnicity flocked to the bustling town, becoming the main point of Mantle's culture before General Ironwood led the Color Revolution. Human and Faunus adults raced to make a new living, and when doubters decried the Schnee's business practices as impractical and irresponsible, Bree Schnee's response is still recorded to this day, as a reminder of how far the SDC had been since its original conception nearly a century ago.

"I do this not for the money, nor for the fame that comes with it. What I did was to provide a way for those affected by the war's aftermath a chance to get up and continue on with their lives. If they liked working for the company, then they may stay. If they don't, they are free to live. Of course, there are criminals who wanted to have a piece of the prize, but would they take the risk of making enemies of war veterans? I think not.

"And if criminal elements want to declare a piece of the land that I own, then they should've learned to ask first. It's not that hard for those who have a brain."

Indeed. The mind-numbing success of the SDC has garnered the many enemies on both sides of the species spectrum, from both human and faunus supremacists alike. Assassination attempts were made by the SDC's former competitors, but all of the were foiled by Bree Schnee's employees, who continued to protect their employer from the vast, dark reaches of corporate business.

However, luck runs out for everyone. Bree Schnee's consistent streak of accomplishments needed to balance themselves out somehow. An unnamed and desperate Faunus forced to work for the SDC's competition had managed to eliminate Bree Schnee. Not enough to kill him, but nonetheless enough to make sure that he would be in no position to continue on running the SDC. It was only the timely intervention of Osmand Dupont that prevented Bree Schnee's would-be assassin from accomplishing their job.

Speculations say that this event had been the catalyst for the SDC's eventual malpractices against faunus kind.

With Bree Schnee unable to continue his work, Osmand Dupont stepped up to the plate. He went after the SDC's competitors in a frenzy, the rapid-fire lawsuits sent to their competitors being substantiated by the would-be assassin's statement under oath of law. Overwhelming evidence proved to be the victor, and the SDC's competition was disbanded, their stocks and equipment fragmented and sent to the SDC for their own use.

The added equipment and the elimination of their opponents from the market allowed the SDC to become the sole proprietor of Dust in Remnant, thus starting the SDC's reign on Dust monopoly.

– Hector Dupont, son of Osmand Dupont and survivor of the Color Revolution, in the biography of Bree Schnee's life.

[Schnee Manor, Atlas]

Howling winds battered against the glass windows.

The temperature was at an all-time low, a bone-chilling negative twenty-seven degrees in contrast to the usual twenty-five. Frost seemed to seep into every crack, weakening metal, stone, and glass alike, but the windows of the Schnee manor stood strong, simply rattling under the gale-force winds.

Dust-infused metal was hardly a recent invention. Ever since the discovery of a way to smelt metal, Dust has been added into them in order to bolster the resulting material's inherent properties. In the case of the Schnee manor's glass panes, it was brought about by the result of a minute amount of Fire Dust sprinkled onto the silicon taffy that was shaped into glass. It allowed for the window to release a controlled amount of heat, and therefore made sure that the biting cold of Atlas would not crack through the glass. The layers of fiberglass certain seemed to help in that regard.

In spite of admiring the incredible marvel of modern engineering however, Willow Schnee simply stared out into the blizzard, a finely-crafted wine glass in her hand that was embossed with the symbol of the Schnee Dust Company. Inside the frosted glass was an amber liquid, the color gradient bordering from a rich gold from the bottom to a pale yellow as it connected with the glass surface.

Vacuan swill, the wealthy called it. Moonshine bottled into an expensive-looking bottle. Sommeliers recommend shooting one's self in the head for even thinking of drinking such swill, and their influence made sure that such a drink would never be found in Atlesian territory.

The main reason for the thousands of lien needed to acquire just one glass. Forty lien for the entire bottle itself. Shipping costs were an additional five hundred and seventy, given the long distance between Vacuo and Atlas whilst preserving the drink's distinctive gradient. An additional forty thousand and three hundred fifty lien needed to be split three ways in order for customs, public health and service committee, and the Schnee manor security team to pass the bottle uncontested. An exotic bottle that cost more than Atlas' finest, and for all the wrong reasons.

Winter Schnee liked it not because it was a metaphor for her life, but it was _the _drink that had the highest amount of alcohol content.

The blizzard grew stronger, with delicate lips pressing onto the rim of her drinking glass while taking a raucous sip of her drink. She savored the burning aftertaste; the scratchy feeling that threatened to catch her throat being stymied by pure force of will. It allowed her to gain some semblance of control over her own life. A control that slipped from her fingers the moment her marriage had been finalized.

...It had been a wonderful idea as well. An impressive CV, an imposing presence, and an indomitable charm that swayed even the most steadfast of opposition onto their side. The only problem that remained was his thirst for faunus blood.

A little bit of background digging shed some light on Jacques Gelé. He was once the scion of a promising man, born into poverty but had the will and the drive to rise to the top by any means possible. Influence was easily gained thanks to his combined might of silver tongue and ruthless cunning. He was the of the rich, the man who had single-handedly clawed his way to the dinner table, and Willow could freely admit that he had interested her as well. What drove a man to reach for the top? Was it just a common dream realized through rare effort, or was his objective a rare gem in the putrid mess of high Atlas society that she knew well and detested?

So, she tested. Poked and prodded in order to reveal his true intent. The marriage was just the beginning of a deal, cementing the rights to a prolific young man who was determined to make a mark on the world. What she finally found underneath the ambition, however...

A scoff escaped her lips. She had found nothing more than a pompous little asshat that wanted the spotlight at all times. An arrogant little worm who thought that he had finally taken the ball of the SDC, and didn't hesitate to grind his reputation to the dust as nothing more than a slave to the hellish society that he wanted to be a part with, for whatever reason.

How disgusting. She would've killed him on principle, but it would cause ripples through society itself, and serve to immediately reinstate her back to a place that she had sworn off for her entire life.

"Report."

The word from her mouth was crisp. Clear. Filled with purpose and vision that was out of place for a supposed alcoholic. Without even turning her head back, she could see his reflection on the Dust-treated glass, arms locked behind the backrest of a chair with eyes that glimmered in mischievous intelligence.

His feet were on the table, crossed in a crass manner as white locks the same as Willow's own fell around his face. One could say that he looked like nothing more than a young man – a well-designed deception, Willow thought – but the maturity that oozed off the figure's shoulders was enough to force someone else to take a closer look.

One would be able to find an uncanny resemblance to the huge portrait pinned to the head of the Schnee manor's dining area. In fact, one could consider that they were even twins.

Willow Schnee knew better. In her defense, the concept was absurd enough to suspend her disbelief at the situation, but she soon accepted the reality for what it was. An impossible possibility – the greatest lie told and written in the history books of Remnant.

Her plan to rid the world of Jacques' filth was sped up by the mere inclusion of the figure. And he knew it as well.

"Good news, or short news?"

For the first time in many years, Willow Schnee managed to smile. It wouldn't be the first, nor would it be the last, but the effect was dimmed by the vicious quirk of her lips. Like a predator.

"The short news, grandfather."

"Very well." The figure seemed to chuckle, flashing a smile as well. Both of them shared the same thoughts. Both of them were relishing in a plan well-executed.

Both of them were Schnees by blood.

"Jacques Gelé, CEO of the Schnee Dust Company, is deposed by its founder."

The blizzard howled through the windows of the Schnee mansion, yet one could hear the gleeful vindication behind it.


End file.
